“The old Lynn’s still in here somewhere, so don’t tempt her.”
Stebbs laughed and propped his foot up on the edge of Lucy’s cot, leaning back to relax. “This isn’t a half-bad place you know? Your mom did a fine job getting you two set up.”
Lynn sat in the chair opposite Stebbs and began dismantling her rifle. “Long as you’re here, I’m going to clean this filthy thing,” she said. “I don’t feel right having a gun in pieces when someone could come down those stairs any minute.”
Stebbs propped his chair back, rested his head against the wall. “Clean away. I’m not going anywhere when there’s coffee brewing.”
“Neva wouldn’t come away from the baby’s grave today.”
“That right?”
“She said she wasn’t capable of caring for Lucy anymore either, and that she’s better off with me.”
“At the moment, it’s true.”
“I think she meant forever.”
“How’d you feel about that?”
Lynn threaded a wad of cotton through the ramrod before answering. “Not so good, really. I mean, I don’t want to give her up just yet. But she’s not mine to keep either.”
“True.”
“I think a girl should be with her mother.”
“I do too,” Stebbs said. “That particular mother isn’t in any shape to care for her daughter as of yet, though.”
“I know it,” Lynn said, and shoved the ramrod down the barrel. “Is that why you took it on yourself to care for them? ’Cause you don’t have family?”
Stebbs blinked at the straightforward question.
“Sorry,” Lynn said quickly. “Never mind.”
“It’s all right. Wasn’t expecting it, is all. Where’s all this coming from, sudden-like?”
“Neva talking to me about Lucy, and her baby that’s gone. She asked me if you’re my family.”
“And you told her?”
“I told her you aren’t.” Lynn critically inspected the cleanliness of her cotton before continuing. “I don’t mind you so much though anymore.”
“Thanks for the kind words. You’re all right yourself.”
Lynn poured them both some coffee and went back to cleaning her rifle without responding. Stebbs warmed his hands around his cup and watched her a few moments. “There’s lots of reasons why I help them. Part of it’s yes, ’cause I don’t have anybody. But I haven’t always done the right thing in my past, and this seems a good a way as any to make up for it.”
“Can’t imagine you doing something terribly wrong,” Lynn said, eyes still on her work.
“There’s different ways of doing things wrong, Lynn, and not all of it is choosing to hurt others. Sometimes it’s the things you don’t do that make you feel the worst.”
“All right then, what’d you not do that was so awful?”
“How much do you know about your daddy?”
Lynn’s hands stopped moving and she glanced up at Stebbs. “Not much. Mother wouldn’t really talk about him. All I know is, by the time I got here he’d been gone awhile.”
“Does the word militia mean anything to you?”
“Are you telling a story or asking me questions?”
Stebbs took a drink of his coffee and settled back in his chair. “If you want to hear it, I’ll tell it.”
Lynn changed the cotton in her ramrod and kept working on the barrel. “I’m sitting here listening.”
“Your daddy was part of the militia. That’s not the regular army that the government was in charge of, you understand? There was a chain of command, and weapons, and we would drill much like the proper army, but everything was voluntary, and everyone was local. Sometimes, we attracted people that the army wouldn’t have for whatever reason. Could be they had asthma or didn’t graduate from high school. But sometimes, we’d get the other kind, that the regular army wouldn’t take ’cause they couldn’t pass the psych exam. Meaning they weren’t quite right, up here.” Stebbs tapped his temple. “Your daddy, he was part of that last half.”
Lynn thought about Mother. Had she wondered how much of Father’s instability had rubbed off on her in the end? And how much of his insanity was inside of Lynn, passed on through the blood or Mother’s teachings? Lynn thought of the people she’d dropped in the fields, thirsty men and women she’d killed without hesitation. Was that because of her father’s priorities, instilled in her so young? Or was that who she truly was—a smaller, female version of him who took life without regret?
Stebbs was watching her, and she felt her mouth tightening into a thin line under his gaze. “I’ve known lots of people in my life, Lynn,” he said. “There’s plenty of good seed sown by the bad.”
She cleared her throat, and changed the subject. “You were militia, too?”
Stebbs nodded, and moved on. “I was regular army once upon a time, but my convoy got hit by an IED during the Second War for Oil and they sent me home ’cause my hand wouldn’t work just right after that.” Stebbs held up his left hand, showing Lynn how it wouldn’t close properly. “I can’t use my index and middle finger for nothing.”